


Division of Labor

by Catchclaw



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Dirty Talk, Domestic, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Tony Stark, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 11:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14331861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The first time they fuck, it's confusing.





	Division of Labor

The first time they fuck, it’s confusing.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands or who to kiss or what to look at and all he can think about is when they’ll get to do this again so he can make different choices, try things another way. Hell, they’ve barely started and he already wants another chance at it, at both of them, four hands and two hearts and a pair of mouths that pin him down, that soothe him, that whisper and roar and draw the very best from him, almost more than he can take.

“Just a little more,” Buck says, one hand on Steve’s hip, slowly tugging him back, and the other on his side, a firm, gentle caress. “Hang on. You’ve almost got all of me.”

Twenty minutes ago, they were having dinner, a nice routine Wednesday meal that Bucky had poked at while Tony yammered and Steve drank their good bourbon and now they’re somehow here, in Bucky and Tony’s bedroom, the one room in the whole penthouse that Steve’s never been in, never really wanted to see because some part of him—the moony part, the never-ending romantic sap—still wants what he can’t have and seeing their bedroom, their bed, would only have driven it home, how hopeless it was, how fucking ridiculous, to have a crush on your practically married best friends.

And yet, somewhere between the salad and the linguine, Bucky had leaned over kissed him and kissed him again and then Tony had reached up and loosened his tie and now he’s on his hands and knees in their sheets with Tony in front of him, Bucky behind, and it feels like he’s out of his body, like the fingers he’s watching clutch at cotton aren’t his, like the breath beating from his lungs is coming from somewhere, someone that isn’t him.

“Shhh,” Tony says, running a hand through his hair, scratching gently at the back of his neck. “It’s alright, you’re ok. Breathe for me, baby.” He’s propped against the headboard, legs stretched beneath Steve's body and they were kissing before but now Steve can’t keep his head up; now it’s all he can do to keep steady, keep still, and it helps having Tony touch him like this, easy, like he’s made of rose petals and glass because that’s what he feels like: fragile, transparent, a creature who could be easily crushed.

Tony says: “Come on, Barnes. Chop chop. Deliberation is hardly the word of the hour, is it? We’re all on the same page. Let’s get with the program already." 

“You’re not helping, Stark,” Bucky says, strained, his voice pulled wire tight.

“Aren’t I? Well. Be a damn shame if you lost it before you managed to get it all the way in. And you don’t want that, do you, Steve?”

He shakes his head, bites his lip. “No.”

“No,” Tony hums, “our Stevie wants to get fucked. Don’t you?” 

“Yes.” The word shatters like it’s been struck with a hammer. “God, yes.” 

Tony cups Steve’s chin and Buck slides all the way in and the look in Tony’s eyes is electric. “Yes,” he says, a warm whisper. “Of course you do, beautiful. It’s written all over your face.” 

He hasn’t known Stark long; a year and some change. Bucky had brought him home pretty quick once they started dating, to their crappy flat above an Automat, and Tony had seemed friendly enough. A little loud for Steve’s tastes, maybe, but that was fine. Buck had always liked his dates lively.

They’d met on the street, Bucky said, outside a rowdy dive on Decoration Day in ‘47. Tony had asked for a light and fed him a line; Buck had handed him a matchbook and laughed in his face. They both said it was love at first sight. They’d ended up at Stark’s place on Central Park West, lighting each other up until dawn. They’d barely come up for air since.

And Steve was happy for them, he was, except for the fact that seeing Bucky happy, really beaming stupid glad for the first time in ages, had the effect of a dropkick in the gut. It forced him to face the one thing—the one!—he’d spent his whole life running from: he loved Buck, heart over sense, and some small, selfish part of him had always thought that Bucky loved him, too.

Not that anybody on this side of the Village would be in favor of that sort of noise. Never mind Uncle Sam: he’d have been frog-marched back across the Atlantic if anybody in Patton’s army had caught a whiff of it, no matter how many stripes he’d had on his sleeve. Anyway, he’d been good at it by then, hiding, keeping his hands and his thoughts to himself, and the America he’d come home to hadn’t convinced him he should do otherwise.

It’d never occurred to him that men like Tony Stark even existed: rich and connected and gorgeous and downright determined not to give a fuck what anybody said about him. Easier to do with millions in the bank and friends in the Pentagon, sure, but still a risk. One that Steve, a nobody with half a college degree and another two years on the GI Bill couldn’t afford to take.

That’s what he told himself, or tried to, on those long nights alone in the apartment he’d shared with Buck since the war, the one with the spare room he couldn’t quite bring himself to sublet, no matter how much he had to struggle some months to make rent.

He envied them. That was bad enough.

Then one weekend they’d had him over for drinks before a night on the town—a blowout bender to celebrate his 28th birthday. “Laying the groundwork,” Tony called it. And that had all been well and good except when he’d arrived, Buck hadn’t been home yet and Tony had called him out to the pool, this extravagant blue shimmer off the living room that Steve had always thought was ridiculous except that afternoon, Tony had emerged from it like some fevered sea god, grinning, his face flushed behind his sunglasses, water peeling down his hips and over his tight European trunks and Steve found he couldn’t make words. None at all.

“You ok, Rogers?” Tony had said, squinting. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Hot,” Steve spat out. “Just the heat.”

He spent the evening trying to stay at arms’ length, but both of them were exuberant drunks. They hugged him at the Rainbow Room and smacked kisses on his cheeks at the Stork Club and swatted him once or twice for good measure at the Copacabana and he went home wound up and blotto and ended up face down in Bucky’s old bed, groaning into the mattress as he ground one out like a kid. He woke up there, sticky and red-faced ashamed, and thought: hell of a birthday present, realizing you were hot for your best friend _and_ his boyfriend.

And now, somehow, he has them. Or, to be fair, they have him. 

Tony traces his jaw, pets at the crown of his head. “I love it when he fucks me,” Tony says, soft. “He makes you feel so full, doesn’t he?” 

That’s another thing that throws him, that makes the whole strange pitch of the bed seem even steeper: how quiet Tony is with him, how careful. He's hard, plain as day, just a handbreadth away, but he hasn't touched himself, hasn't ask Steve to, has kept kissing him like he’s something exquisite, someone worth caring for. It's the damnedest thing.

“You ok?” Tony nips at his lip. “Steve, hey. You alright? It’s ok if you’re not. Just tell me.”

All he can do is bob his head. He feels unhinged. He feels pinned, even more so when Bucky bends over and kisses his back, nuzzles his spine, shoving that last sweet inch inside.

“God, you’re so tight,” Buck whispers. “All that work Tony did to get you ready for my dick and you’re still holding me so goddamn tight.”

“You think he’s gonna let you go now, while he’s got you like this?” Tony grins, lets Steve taste it. “Hell no. He’s way too smart for that, aren’t you, Captain?”

He opens his mouth, he really does, but all that comes out is a sigh, one drawn straight up from his gut.

Tony pats his cheek. “Thatta boy.” Then: “Give him a second to breathe, babe.”

Bucky’s breath is steam against the back of his neck. “Jesus, I am.”

“‘M fine,” Steve gets out. 

“You’re not,” Tony says. His hands curve around Steve’s face, firm and certain. “But you will be, I promise. Hold still, ok? Just stay right here with me.”

Bucky’s arm winds around his waist as his heart pounds against Steve’s back and now there’s nowhere for him to go. None at all.

Tony finds his mouth again, murmurs: “He’s loved you since he was fifteen. Did you know that?”

Buck moans, the sound a stone that sinks to Steve’s ribs, and his hips kick, a quick, sullen thrust. “Tony, don’t—”

“Since high school. Since he barely knew what his dick was for, much less his heart. Pined away for you ever since then, banging everything that looked his way and thinking about you the whole time.”

A growl. “Damn it, Stark.”

“What, you think he didn’t know?” He turns a thumb over Steve’s mouth. “You did, didn’t you?”

The satisfaction in his heart, god. The joy. “I hoped."

Tony makes a satisfied noise. “Mmmm. The way he looks at you when your back is turned, Steve. Jesus. His face might as well be made of neon. And you should hear the shit he says about you in bed.”

“I hate you,” Bucky hisses. He’s shaking now, Steve can feel it, his body coiled tight like a spring, hungry to move. 

“You love me,” Tony says. “And you love Stevie, too. And, may I add, it’s clear as fucking day that he loves you. It’s really not all that complicated. I get that repressed emotional BS is the currency of the day, fellas, but let’s not kid ourselves here.”

Bucky snarls. “Why are we having this conversation now?” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tony says. “Division of labor. We agreed: you fuck, I talk.”

Bucky’s hips jerk and they’re still sniping at each other, but all Steve can hear is the pound of his heart, the desperate echo of his own breath, because god, feeling Buck moving inside him, that feels, that feels…

The words come out in a rush. “Do that again.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky spits.

“Yes,” Tony says, “yes. That’s right. You heard the man. Give it to him again.”

A whine and another jolt, another bolt of feeling his body doesn’t quite understand.

“Again.”

This time, Buck takes more away, gives it back harder, fast.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony says. “Fuck, Barnes, you should see his face.”

Steve closes his eyes, he has to; it’s either that or drown in the rush of affection in Stark’s eyes, something more than awe, more than pure want. He has to shut himself away a little before he can find the words he wants and let himself say. “Please. More.” 

Tony drags his nails down Steve’s chest, stretches, gets a palm on his dick. “You can have more, baby. Can’t he, Buck? Hmm?”

Bucky sighs, a beautiful shiver that ends in the shove of his cock. “Stevie,” he says, “you can have all that you want. All you ever had to do was ask.”

“But you couldn’t, could you?” Tony says.

“No.” A sound punches out of Steve’s mouth, low and hurt. “No, I just—I couldn’t—” 

“No,” Tony murmurs, his fist easing into a rhythm, “and once we finally understood that, we decided that rather than wait for the question, we’d just give you the answer all of us wanted.”

The first time he comes with them, for them, he doesn’t know whose hands kick him over the edge, or whose cries: all he knows is that when he comes, a great bolt of senseless white, they both say his name, roar it, whisper it in a kind of endless benediction that makes him feel whole and good and almost divine.

“God, you’re gorgeous, Rogers,” Stark says, drawing out the last, shuddering strokes. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

Bucky leans over Steve’s shoulder and kisses him, tugs on Steve’s hair and feeds him one, too. “Right where he belonged: in mine.”

Steve grins, sloppy and stupid and happy. “Aren’t you both lucky, then, to have found me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Plot? Plot? What is plot? But lord, I love these three together.


End file.
